


another puzzle to be solved

by essektheylyss (midnightindigo)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eiselcross expedition nonsense, First Kiss, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightindigo/pseuds/essektheylyss
Summary: Caleb can't sleep in Eiselcross, so he pays a rival expedition a visit.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 19
Kudos: 261





	another puzzle to be solved

**Author's Note:**

> So, about that Talks......
> 
> No I'm not okay, and I assume none of you are either!

It’s strange, sleeping in tents provided by the coffers of the Cerberus Assembly—or at least whatever portion of it Vess Derogna controls—rather than the hut, but once they’d gotten to Eiselcross it had been far too cold to sleep on the frozen ground, and he fidgets in the too-heavy warmth of the small tent that is enchanted to open into a space much bigger than expected, with a cot to keep them off the ground and the constant heat.

He should be grateful for the shelter, and the warmth, and a bit of alone time, but whoever made this enchanted tent did their job too well, and he’s been beating a space in his pillow that might allow him to get some sleep. Frumpkin, in the form of an arctic fox with grey and white bengal patterning, tucks his head beneath Caleb’s hand, as he reaches into his pack and flips open a book.

It’s not the book on transmutation discoveries from the Age of Arcanum that he was expecting; instead it’s that smut book that he’s got memorized—not that that’s a feat for him, of course, but he certainly doesn’t need to read it again.

He tosses it back down into his bag and rummages for another moment—but the book he’s looking for is deeper inside, the canvas tangled around everything else he lugs around with him, and he finally gives up, laying back and letting Frumpkin shift until his little white head rests on Caleb’s chest.

It’d be more tolerable if they were in the hut—or the tower, even, but he’s tapped out for the day. “At least I have you, Frumpkin,” he says, and his fox-cat makes a little brrp noise that makes him laugh. 

He knows what he’d like to do, where he might sleep better—there is a circle of Dynasty tents less than five hundred meters from them, both expeditions unwilling to let the other out of their sight, and he wonders how he might get over there to speak with the person he has been turning over words to address for weeks now.

When they’d seen each other this afternoon, it had been in the middle of a very tense group interaction—Vess and the lead researcher danced politely around their loathing of the other as they negotiated how they could and could not interact here, and Essek—suppressing a constant shiver under a wool cloak, his feet just off the ground to keep the ice from seeping into his boots—had raised an eyebrow at him without exchanging a word. The question was clear—if they’d heeded his warning about Vess, were simply here to keep an eye on her and whatever Assembly interests were to be had here, or if they’d thrown his caution to the wind.

Caleb thinks he knows better than Essek how dangerous the Assembly is, and sometimes he’d like to march over there and tell him exactly how far over his own pointy ears he is.

Usually, though, he wants to kiss him, and it’s extremely inconvenient.

He growls at the direction of his own thoughts and shifts onto his side to scratch Frumpkin beneath the chin, and the fox stretches into his touch. “How would I even get there?” he asks, as though he’s entertaining the idea. “I cannot exactly teleport today. And I cannot send a message far enough to reach him.”

Frumpkin, as though he’s still a cat, makes a little chirp of happiness and twists to offer Caleb his belly, which Caleb knows is a trap that he falls for anyway. He’s rewarded with two scratches but gets a few scratches in, and has a thought.

“You are a cat…” he says slowly. “But you are not a cat, hmm?”

A moment later two arctic foxes slink out of the flap of the tent with blue-grey bengal spots, and take off running for the Kryn encampment.

Frumpkin traverses into the snow to look for any small animals that he might hunt, but Caleb stalks through the camp, hunting for anything that might indicate which tent is the correct one. Several armored mercenaries—a bugbear and a minotaur—weave among the camp on watch, and he ducks behind tentpoles as they pass, waiting in the shadows and thanking the gods that their vision is not as sharp as a drow's.

When he starts to realize that all of these tents look the same, he sighs, and grumbles at himself for this expenditure of magic—in a moment out of sight of the guards, he drops his form, shivering violently, and weaves invisibility around himself. Though his hands tremble, he pulls a piece of copper wire out of the pocket of his coat and thinks of his target, and whispers, “Essek. I came to talk but I cannot find your tent.”

He doesn’t bother telling him he can reply, and after a moment the words come, as awake and alert as he’d expected, and the response doesn’t ask the numerous questions that Caleb can hear in his voice. “Caleb, I— near the center, the furthest north of the circle. I’ll wait for you.”

Caleb slips, invisible, toward a tent from where a bit of light now spills, and he ducks inside, Essek’s eyes finding the shimmer of the air around him, as one of the guards calls a question that Essek answers in undercommon before letting the flap fall closed again.

“What did you tell him?” Caleb asks, as he lets the illusion fade, and finds that Essek’s temporary abode is as comfortable as his permanent one—the inside is larger than the one Vess has provided for him, though it does not look it from the outside, and is more furnished, a table and chairs set up with a spread of maps and papers beside a candle that has half-melted in its holder. 

“I told him I was checking the position of the stars. Not that I don’t know where they are at the moment, but… he does not need to know that.” Essek sits down in front of it, where Caleb has a feeling he’s been for most of the evening, and runs one hand over his tired face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, with a bared grin, and Caleb sits across from him. 

“I wanted to see how you were,” Caleb says, and suddenly all of the words he’s been rehearsing in his head die in his throat. “I was curious what you are doing in Eiselcross.”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“You knew we were looking into the Assembly—this is no different than that endeavor.”

“Perhaps not. Though it is certainly an interesting strategy.”

“We are curious what other artifacts they might be looking to get their hands on. And I am curious what artifacts you are looking to get your hands on.”

Essek meets his keen stare with one of his own, clicking his tongue witheringly. “I think my ventures into smuggling have been plenty for a lifetime. This is all aboveboard, for the Bright Queen.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because this is my job,” Essek blinks, and waves a hand—from a small cabinet, a tray hovers toward them, carrying a steaming pot of tea and cups for each of them. He pours for them both and offers one to Caleb. “I oversee research into anything of an arcane nature that may be of use to the Dynasty, which, unfortunately, sometimes also involves retrieval.” He laughs. “Trust me, I would like nothing more to be back in Rosohna, in a more temperate climate.”

“I cannot disagree,” Caleb says. 

“What did you think I did?”

“Truth be told, I don’t believe anyone has ever explained what exactly someone who bears the title ‘shadowhand’ does when they are on the clock.”

“Ah, well. That is because it becomes a far more secretive endeavor when there’s a war on.”

“And we have only known you when there is a war on.”

Caleb isn’t sure if it’s just a trick of the dying, trembling candlelight, but Essek grimaces for just a moment. “Yes. That is true.”

“To peace now, though, yes?” Caleb asks, offering his teacup, and Essek clinks his own cup against it. 

“Indeed.”

They both drink, letting the silence sit for a moment, before Caleb begins to peer at the research laid across the table. Essek watches him, with a slight, endearing smirk, and Caleb is starting to wonder if it was a mistake to come here. It feels like what they’re holding between them is delicate as a bird, that any sudden movement might snap its neck. His heart flips as Essek peers at him.

“Do you read undercommon?”

“No,” Caleb murmurs, with a smile, glad for an excuse to continue to examine the papers before him. “No, it’s all gibberish to me. Perhaps I will see if Beauregard can teach me, one day.”

“Beauregard speaks undercommon?”

“Yes, the Cobalt Soul is very big on language acquisition.” He leans back in his chair and sips his tea, wishing for something stronger, though perhaps it would only spur poor decisions. “She picked it up during the time we spent in Rosohna.”

“Ah, so it is not merely a recent skill acquired to vex me.”

“Does it vex you that your self-proclaimed only friends can speak with you in your native tongue?”

Essek shrugs, and that smirk has turned more wicked. “I would not presume to proclaim any of us friends at the moment. I did not think you trusted me.”

It feels as though Essek has moved from the group to Caleb, specifically, and he swallows. “I trust that you have told us the truth, now. And I trust that you would not knowingly harm us. But I think you are uncertain how to proceed, and that can…” He thinks of the time he spent, trying to figure out what to do next, how to move forward without knowing who he was beyond the academy and the asylum. “That can make you unpredictable.”

He does not say, _You are a caged wild animal_. He does not tell him, _You are made of the same things that I am, and I do not trust myself_.

He says, “I don’t know what you plan to do next.”

Essek laughs. “I don’t really have a plan. See what, if anything, they send me, though that is perhaps an idealistic belief. Freeze to death in the arctic, I suppose. As much as I would like to continue my primary research I… cannot pretend I am not relieved to be distracted from it.”

He sets his teacup delicately on the table and leans into himself, arms crossed on the table and head bowed, and the surface between them is small enough that Caleb wants to reach across—

His hands tremble around his teacup.

“So, you are here to keep an eye on Derogna? Or assist her?” Essek asks, when the silence stretches.

“Both, I suppose. One for her, one for us. She has also promised us part of any discoveries she makes, but we’ll see if she keeps that promise.” He sighs. “It seems she is your counterpart, on the Empire side of things, though she works primarily for herself.”

“And I do not?”

“You seek knowledge to share, though you have been forced into shadowed places in order to find it,” Caleb says. “Everything you have said to me suggests, yes, you perhaps have overreached in your endeavors, as have I, as have most mages that have come before us—we are going to a ruin of the hubris of those mages, in fact—but you want it shared. I think you have had information withheld from you long enough that you would not continue to do that to others, given the chance.”

“And Derogna?”

“Well, she has an appetite for knowledge but it is… selfish, without importance. She would consume it without sharing.”

“You speak too highly of me,” Essek murmurs, glancing down at his hands. “Derogna and I are perhaps more similar than you think. That is why I warned you against her, after all.”

“And you believe I need the same warning against you?”

“Yes, of course.”

It was definitely a mistake to come here, but Essek looks so forlorn that Caleb thinks he can bear to make a few more before the night is over. He sets his cup down and reaches to catch Essek’s face gently in his hands. Essek’s breath catches as he looks up, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t seem capable of asking. 

“You are… you are not so far gone as her,” Caleb whispers. “You are…”

“A traitor, and a liar, and a war monger?” Essek asks with an ugly, twisted smile that Caleb can feel beneath the fingers that are still on his face.

But Caleb remembers how Yeza feared a woman a thousand miles away more than he feared the very powerful foreign agents that took him captive, and he shakes his head.

“I told you I hoped for you.” He lets his hands drop, and his palms feel cold immediately. This tent’s temperature is far better than his, and for a moment he fancifully imagines staying here overnight. “I have hope for very few people, but… you are an exception. You have shown yourself capable of learning from others even without guidance, and…” He laughs. “I was not quite so easy to manage, not so long ago.”

“Oh?”

“No, Fjord held a sword to my throat. But then, Fjord has also asked me to execute him, if it came to it.”

Essek’s breathing seems to have returned to a normal pace, now that Caleb’s hands have released him, and Caleb tries not to read into it too much. “You have rather… interesting experiences.”

“What I am saying is…” He presses one hand into a fist to settle the nerves in his arms. “We are here to catch you. I— I am here to catch you.”

“And why would you catch me, Mr. Widogast?” Essek asks. Caleb can hear the distance he’s trying to push between them, the disbelief, and he can’t stand it.

He shoves the table aside, knocking over his empty teacup in the process, and it clatters on the wood as he stands, and Essek mirrors him in surprise. “Because I care for you,” Caleb snaps, and nothing he can say feels strong enough for the thing in his chest that wants to reach out to Essek and never let him go so he can’t isolate himself anymore. “Because I— I— we may have thrown a wrench in your plans, but you have thrown a wrench in mine. And it would be silly of me after giving you a grand speech about life to ignore that.“ 

He takes a step forward, and Essek takes a step back, his sock-covered feet firmly planted on the ground, and Caleb takes a moment to notice that he’s much shorter than he seems, when he’s wearing his boots and floating. Every step between them is just another in this dance they’ve been doing for months, and he wonders if eventually the song will end.

“Caleb,” Essek breathes, and he can’t help but smile that in only a minute they’ve returned to first names.

If the song is going to end, he doesn’t intend to find out. 

He captures Essek’s face in his hands and his lips in his own, and Essek freezes for a split second before he presses into his toes to push back into the kiss, his arms snaking around Caleb’s waist.

“I came here,” Caleb murmurs, between hungry kisses, “because I thought—hoped, perhaps—that we could make up for what we have done together. And because this place may kill one or both of us, and I am selfish, and I needed to know if there was a chance for happiness here, even if I die before I can reach it.” 

Essek laughs, even in this embrace, and closes his eyes. “I am the one who should be asking what chance I have for happiness, all things considering.”

And that is the question, isn’t it—do either of them deserve it? Caleb presses his brow to Essek’s, and thinks that he has the chance to make plenty of mistakes tonight, that their relationship has always been built on high risks and higher rewards.

If there is any hope for them, for some kind of future, they are both too pragmatic to promise it tonight, but they can entertain the idea.

“Will you allow me to stay with you?” Caleb asks, and wraps his arms tighter around Essek, circling his shoulders, willing himself to hold this moment tight in case it is nothing but a possibility that will vanish in the morning light. 

“Of course.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he continues. “I needed to know—“

“I understand,” Essek says, and Caleb can hear the weariness in his voice, and he wonders how many nights Essek has spent asking himself the questions Caleb has not been able to voice out loud.

He giggles, a bit delirious with exhaustion, and Essek pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him. It’s surprising how comfortable this is—how natural it feels to stand wrapped together, as though they are a puzzle they have just managed to solve. There is a victorious beat in his chest, that he has not miscalculated tonight, that there is something for them here. That if they are worthy of anything, it is this—in some way, he belongs to Essek, and in some way, Essek belongs to him, and that he has not imagined that, whatever mold has shaped them both, they fit together somehow.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I…” he shakes his head. “I am a selfish asshole, putting us in danger like this. Putting this mission in danger. If anyone were to discover that I am here—”

“What is reward without a bit of risk?” Essek smirks, and Caleb tangles his hands in Essek’s hair as he kisses him breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> These idiots are literally so dramatic so here's hoping they get to be dramatic together.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
